


Girls Like

by claryfrary



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alek is hitting on Alina 24/7, Aleks is also seemingly unsure how emotions work, Aleks is basically an old man in a hot body with NO time for this bs, Aleks might be a bit of a sadist, Alina is pissed, Alina is pissed about that too, F/M, Genya did Something Bad, Genya is very amused about this whole thing, Nikolai almost went splat on some rocks in Costa Rica, Nikolai is an idiot, Pass it on, and Alina has absolutley had enough of eVERYBODY, and he's short, but i mean when isn't he??, but like, but that's a story for another time, she kind of wants to run Alek over with her car, so is mal but he's an asshole so, the best kind of idiot, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryfrary/pseuds/claryfrary
Summary: Alina just wants to get into her apartment building without having to pretty much crawl over the hood of a car, instead she gets stuck with the living inspiration for the Tall, Dark And Handsome trope.





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> this is very short whoops. please enjoy some Darkling and Alina, however.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what boys like  
> I know what they want  
> So go ahead and prove me right  
> That's what girls like"  
> \- Girls Like by Tinie Tempah (feat. Zara Larson)

Alina Starkov likes to think of herself as sensible. Level-headed. But when it comes to that fucking person who keeps parking directly across her driveway and somehow in front of the tiny front lawn to her apartment so she practically has to crawl across the hood of the car to get into building - she's absolutley seething and standing outside with her apartment key in hand, about a milimetre away from the shiny black paint on the car. It looks expensive. Alina wants to grin but feels like that might make what she's about to do worse. 

She puts the key to the back door and applies pressure, dragging it along. This'll teach that asshole, she thinks. Maybe he'll finally notice the parknig spots across the street next time aroun -

"What, pray tell, are you doing to my car?" Asks a voice from the opposite side of the car. She jerks her head up, startled, dragging the key upwards now. Her eyes are wide and her heart is beating a traitorous rhythm in her chest. 

Immediately, she wants to bleat "Nothing", but it's quite evident that's not the case. Especially with the blush on her cheeks climbing to her ears. But Alina has never had much trouble with lying; "Waiting to talk to you." She raises her eyebrows, as if that might add emphasis to her words. 

"Me?" He says, brows raised questioningly - challengingly, Alina thinks. She's trying not to notice him, the tallness that allows him to look down his nose at her, the square jaw and sharp cheekbones that seem at once fragile and dangerous. 

"This is your car isn't it?" She kind of hopes she sounds like she thinks he's a little stupid for not understanding why she would want to talk to him. 

He nods.

"Well, it's been blocking the fucking way into my apartment building for the past two weeks. Wanna move it?" 

His lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile and his eyes dart away, down the street for a second before meeting hers again. "I'll consider it," he tells her and the car beeps before he pulls one arm back to open the driver's side door. 

Her mouth drops open. "Consider it?" She demands. "It wasn't really a question, Your Highness." 

He leans against the roof of his car, eyes trained intently on her. "Would you consider dinner with me, then?" 

She feels the ridges of the key dig into her skin with how hard she's gripping it. "Absolutley not," she says before spinning around and marching towards the steps to her apartment building. 

His chuckle follows her right up until she slams the front door behind herself.


	2. Grilled Cheese and Gossip

Alina is seething. What kind of pompous jerk just goes, “I’ll consider it”, and looks so amused while doing it? And asking her out to dinner! Was that some sort of a joke? Did he honestly believe there was a slight chance she would say yes?

A noise of disbelief comes involuntarily from her mouth. Genya glances at her over her shoulder, brows arched curiously. Genya knows something’s up, but Alina isn’t sure that if she starts telling Genya what happened if she’ll be able to stop ranting.

“Tell me that noise didn’t come from your stomach?” Genya grins from their tiny kitchen, flipping a grilled cheese. 

Alina wants to bite back a snarky remark but thinks better of it - Genya didn’t piss her off. That obviously blind guy who refuses to see the parking spots across the street did. 

So she says, “Yes, what else would it have been?” With an eye roll for emphasis.

Genya tilts her head to one side, a close-lipped smile lighting her features. “Come on, come eat.” The redhead motions to the grilled cheese sizzling in the pan. 

Alina unfolds herself from the armchair. “You’re a Saint, Gen.” 

They sit in silence at the table, Alina trying her best not to think of that tall, dark-haired jerk and trying to remember what time Nikolai said he was going to call tonight, and Genya staring thoughtfully at Alina. 

“Alright, out with it,” Genya finally demands. “Before I revoke your grilled cheese.”

Alina gives a startled laugh. “Revoke? What? You’ll make me puke it back up?”

“If that’s what it takes, Starkov.” 

Alina pushes back in her seat. “Okay.”

After a moment of silence, Genya makes a face as if to say, Well, are you going to start ranting anytime soon or do I have to do it for you?

“Well you know that asshole who’s been parking in front the building for, like, weeks? I decided to teach him a lesson yesterday.”

“What, did you key his car?” She snorts. Genya starts suddenly, hands grasping at the table as leans forward. “You didn’t. Alina, you did not key his car.” A pause, then: “Alina that is illegal! Illegal!...I think!”

“Anyway, he caught me mid-key, and I told him to move his fucking car and he goes ‘I’ll consider it’,” Alina mimics in a deep voice. “And then - And Then, he asks me out to dinner.”

“Well was he hot?”

“Genya, you traitor!”

“How am I a traitor?”

“I’m not sure but it feels like it. Can I exile you for that?”

Genya raises a brow. “From the apartment? No. I just made you grilled cheese.” 

“Bummer.”

“Now, details, details.” Genya encourages impatiently, motioning with her hands.

“Details about what?” Alina sighs, though it might be half-hearted. 

“The hot guy who asked you out on a date.”

Alina feels herself splutter for a second. “I never said he was hot!”

“You never said he wasn’t, either.”

A noise of frustration pulls itself from Alina’s throat seemingly of its own accord. 

“So he was.” The redhead props her head on a fisted hand. 

Alina scowls, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Was he blond? Brunette?”

“He was,” Alina corrects, “an ass.”

“Oh! And how about his ass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll probably see some Nikolai?? And possibly some Mal? I'm not entirely sure yet. 
> 
> And maybe some Darkling...;))


	3. A Typical Morning

“Alina!” Nikolai beams, eyes bright and not a single blond hair out of place.

Alina yawns. “I have no idea how you’re up at this ungodly hour.”

“Alina, it’s only six a.m. here. That means it’s about eleven at night for you. How is this hour considered even remotely ungodly?”

“Because every hour I’m away from my bed is ungodly.”

Nikolai snorts, then sighs a moment later. “I miss this.”

“Miss what? The time zone?”

“Miss you, stupid.”

“Oh,” Alina rocks back a little bit on her bed, thinking that she really should make it at some point, but she isn’t sure which point that will be. Then she grins at Nikolai. “So how’s Greece?”

“Eh,” he shrugs, leaning back against the headboard behind him. “I’ve seen better.”

She wants to throw a pillow at him. “Nikolai! Are you kidding? Greece has got to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. God, you’re so lucky you’re loaded.”

“I’d hardly call being the heir to a billionaire's fortune ‘loaded’,” he disagrees, but the shit-eating grin on his face says otherwise.

“I swear to god, Nicholas, I’m going to end this goddamn Skype call.”

Nikolai puts a hand to his chest, mouth open slightly. “Alina Starkov don’t you dare.”

“Dare what? Call you Nicholas or end the Skype call?”

“Either.”

“Well in that case your new contact name is Nicholas.”

Nikolai narrows his eyes, but not a second later a smile breaks out across his features. Alina can’t help but grin back. After a moment she asks, “so do you know when you’ll be done ‘finding yourself’ in foreign countries?”

“Why, do you miss me so much your heart can’t bear another second? If so, I can be on a plane within the hour.”

Alina rolls her eyes. Sometimes she feels like it’s all she ever does whenever Nikolai’s involved. “Yes,” she replies dryly, “my heart yearns for you, Nikolai, if we don’t reunite immediately I might doubt that my life is a romance novel.”

Nikolai’s lips tilt downwards in a scowl. “It better yearn or we’re gonna have problems.”

“Of which sort?” Alina snorts.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think they might involve my heart being shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces and you being the only thing capable of consoling me.”

“Good god, Nikolai.” Alina shakes her head. She glances to the bottom right corner of her laptop, groaning when the small clock there tells her it’s nearly midnight. “Can we talk tomorrow?” She asks, feeling guilt tug at her for already saying goodbye. They hardly got time to talk as it was with Nikolai out of the country and Alina’s particularly strict work schedule. “I have to work at eight tomorrow.”

Nikolai’s smile drops a little, becoming less bright and she misses him then, very suddenly and severely. She misses yelling at him for leaving his dirty socks on the kitchen counter of _her_ apartment and cursing him for keeping her up late at night watching Netflix.

“Eight?” Nikolai scoffs. “You’ll still get at least seven and a half hours of sleep. Psh, weakling.”

“Weakling?” She raises her brows at him. “For not wanting to feel like a corpse on my feet tomorrow?”

“Could you make saying you want to get some sleep anymore complicated?”

Alina laughs. “Goodmorning, Nikolai,” she says, remembering that it’s probably nearly 7 a.m. in Greece.

“Goodnight, Alina.”

* * *

 Alina finds that in the morning, she is back to cursing Nikolai for keeping her up late into the night. No amount of concealer that she applies works in her favour to hide the garish circles under her eyes and the fact that there’s no more coffee left to make makes her morning much more unbearable.

And just to make her crankier, just as she’s rushing out the door and to the bus stop, she notices that goddamned car parked in front of the building again, blocking the front lawn and driveway and, just so coincidentally, the walkway. Then, someone calls her name.

The moment she spins around, she regrets it. Hurrying towards her and down the front steps, is Mal. Her neighbour who she wouldn’t mind if he slipped on a particularly large patch of ice. Or j-walked and got mowed down.

“Who’d you dress up so nice for so early?” he asks, a slight grin on his lips as his eyes rove over her figure.

She tries not to snort. “Myself.”

He cocks a brow. “You sure?”

“Positively.” Alina holds back a sigh. “Look Mal, I’ve got to get to work, so…”

“Oh,” he rocks back on his heels. “Would you like me to drive you? I’m headed that way anyways.”

Alina stares at him for a second. Wonders if he’s really that dumb.

“Headed which way, exactly?” She arches her brow.

“Down -” he gestures vaguely both ways down the street with his hands. “You know...that way. You might have to give me directions, I’m not sure I remember the way.” He goes to put an arm on her. Around her waist or her shoulders that he can barely reach, Alina isn’t sure. She takes a step away from him, reminded of the time he’d thrown a party in his apartment and gotten astoundingly smashed out of his mind and tried to talk Alina into his bed.

“I’ve got to get going, Mal.” She turns away from him, trying to think of how she’s going to be able to wedge herself between that fucking car and the telephone pole. She makes it a few steps when Mal is beside her.

“Let me give you a ride, Alina. No charge.”

She glances sideways at the man, making a face and curious of whether or not he thought he would get something in return for a car ride.

“No, thanks,” she responds, words clipped.

“Alina, come on -”

“No, Mal,” she says, and the assertiveness in her tone surprises her a little. “Now leave me alone.”

Alina sets a fast pace until she gets to the car. Her eyes seek out the jagged line she’d drawn just a day or two before. She feels a hint of guilty satisfaction when she sees it. What kind of person just goes around keying people’s cars? But at the same time, she thought - knew - he deserved it for being such a jerk.

She wants to sigh and to scream at the same time as she looks to the small space she can usually just squeeze through to get to the road - because that small space, is non existent today and Alina wonders how he managed to park just so so that the pretty black paint wouldn’t obtain a single scratch.

She glances to the back of the car, where yellow tapes closes off _that_ exit route. _Am I really going to have to climb over the hood of the car?_ Alina wonders. One quick look to her phone tells her that the gallery will be opening in less than ten minutes. She can’t miss helping Harshaw open. She can’t be late.

Cringing, Alina lifts herself to sit on the hood of the car. Maybe she can just slide across the hood to the sidewalk? She’s nearly scooted across the whole hood when she peeks curiously at the windshield. Staring back at her through the slightly tinted glass with a calm, amused expression, is him. The jerk. The asswipe who doesn’t know how to _fucking_ _park_.

A blush forms furiously, and her face feels too warm. Sure, she’s embarrassed - who wouldn’t be? - but more so she’s angry that he just sat there and more than likely watched her wander around his car looking for a way out to the street.

She scowls at his rather complacent expression and slides off the hood of the car.

It’s a damn good thing, she thinks, that the gallery is only around the corner, and takes off running.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Nikolai, Mal, and Darkles?? All in one chapter?? I'm very pleased with myself.  
> What did you guys think of Mal?


	4. A Day in the Life

“Isn’t it pretentious?” Harshaw asks, strolling up beside her.

Alina tilts her head to one side, staring up at the massive framed canvas before her. She can’t entirely tell what the artist had been painting. An angel? Just angry splotches?

“It’s something alright,” she agrees, brow arching.

“Wanna head over to Starbucks for lunch?” Harshaw leans back slightly, eyeing the large square canvas before turning to face her.

Alina glances around, searching the walls for a clock. “Well what time is it?”

“Time for lunch?”

Alina props a hand on her hip. “Perhaps, but I’m not leaving unless I’m on break. I can’t afford to lose this job.” She’d only just barely got this job, and she didn’t think it would take much for her to lose it. It was a foot in the door to the art world, a job that actually had anything to do with her degree.

“Relax, Alina,” Harshaw chides lightly. “We’re both scheduled for a lunch break in five minutes.”

“Oh,” she says. She plays with the bottom of her deep blue blazer, thinking of how she’d painstakingly picked out her outfit the night before her first day. She had consulted Genya at least a dozen times about it, if she was sure the outfit would impress - stun, even. Genya assured her it would. That first day a particularly older man had approached her about a certain piece hanging on the far wall, slipping her a hundred dollar bill with his phone number scrawled across it.

Alina hadn’t glanced twice at the number and used the bill to buy a celebratory bottle of wine that she never would have been able to afford before this job.

“Annnnddd that’s five,” Harshaw gives her conspiratorial grin, lowering his voice. “But between us, it’s only been three and a half.”

Alina laughs. “Come on, moron. I’m starving.”

* * *

The rest of Alina’s shift passes slowly and without incident.

It’s incredibly boring.

She spends most of it refilling her paper cup whenever she’s drained it of coffee, texting Genya, and raising her eyebrows curiously as Harshaw performs interpretive dance to every other song that plays on the radio.

They’re usually not allowed to play music, but considering no one has come in in well over two hours, they figure the boss won’t mind.

Alina’s phone buzzes against the counter. _I’ll come by when your shift ends. At 5 right?_

 _6:30_ , Alina’s fingers fly over the screen with practiced ease. She thinks of the delicious smelling restaurant she and Harshaw passed on their way to Starbucks at lunch and thinks she’ll probably be able to dissuade Genya from her new health kick for just one meal. 

 _See u_. Comes the reply.

By five-thirty, Alina and Harshaw have already completed all the necessary procedures for closing - wipe down the counters ( _don’t_ get any fingerprints on the glass!), dust the frames, sweep the floors (upper level and lower), turn off all the lights - except for setting the alarm. So they sit on a pair of remarkably stiff chairs that are mostly there for decoration - not once has Alina witnessed a customer sit on one - and watch the sun begin to sink excruciatingly slowly below the buildings across the street.

“Has that always been there?” Alina asks, pointing to the brick building across the street with a proud and bold logo reading: _Nazyalensky_ and then in a slightly smaller font underneath, _Law Firm_.

The sun illuminates Harshaw’s face, making his jaw appear sharper than it is with the way the light and shadow plays on it. The word chiaroscuro pops into Alina’s mind. She wonders if the sun plays the same tricks on the planes of her face.

His forehead creases. “I don’t think so.” He picks at his cuticle. “Wonder when that got there.” But it doesn’t sound like he cares all that much.

Six-thirty rolls around finally, and Harshaw tells her to go ahead; he’ll set the alarm. She thanks him and clocks out.

When she walks outside, she spots Genya a few feet down the sidewalk, frowning as she speaks to a tall man in a suit the same dark shade as his hair. He’s clutching a briefcase in his right hand and using his left as he talks.

Alina waits where she is. Pulls out her phone - pretending to look busy. She knows well enough to stay away when Genya is chatting up a guy, because it usually ends up with her friend trying to set her up on some blind date or another.

Genya, exasperated, walks away from the stranger and, catching sight of Alina leaning against the gallery’s front window, heads towards her.

Alina cocks a brow. “Who were you talking to?”

The redhead’s expression shifts to include a slight grimace with the annoyance. “He wanted your phone number.”

Alina’s mouth opens a little, surprise overriding almost every other thought. After a moment, she crosses her arms over her chest. “You didn’t tell me who he was, Gen.”

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Genya sighs. “You may or may not have keyed his car.”

Disbelief paints itself over Alina’s features as a quiet laugh slips from her lips. After a moment, the slightly astounded fog slips abruptly from her mind. “And did you _give it to him_?”

Genya looks offended. “What do you think, Alina?” She shifts her weight again, looking at her friend expectantly. As if Alina should already know the answer. Alina hopes she does. “I told him he’d have to ask you himself.”

“Good,” Alina breaks out into a smile. “Now how do you feel about takeout? I know you started that stupid diet a few days ago but I went to Starbucks with Harshaw at lunch and we passed this place - it smelled soooo good.”

Genya grins a wicked grin. “Well wouldn’t you know it, it’s cheat day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Darkles, and some Harshaw because he's precious and should've been in all 3 books.  
> Also I love Genya so much. And the fact that Alina can't go more than an hour (probably) without cursing.
> 
> There's going to be a lot more Alarkling in the next chapter (eeeeee!!!!)!


	5. Unexpected

Alina figures that the jerk took Genya telling him to ask Alina himself for her number seriously because when she comes bounding down the building’s steps the next morning, he’s leaning against his car in the same crisp black suit he wore yesterday. She muses over the idea that at home he has a closet full with the exact same suit.

As she gets closer she notices the resolve on his face. It makes her think he’s used to not taking “No” for an answer.

“Good morning,” he says somewhat amicably. He doesn’t smile, but his lips quirk up a little on one side. Like a twitch.

Alina stares back at him blankly, boredly, thinking _Not with you parked there, it isn’t_ . She goes for the small space between his car and the telephone pole - but, of course, there’s no space there for her to squeeze through. Even if he refused to park across the street - _in the actual parking spaces_ \- could he not have left her some room to get by his car?  

“My name is Aleksander Morozova,” he says as if she’s not standing there looking like she might stab him if she had some form or another of a grievous weapon.

“I’m not introducing myself, if that’s what you’re waiting for, asswipe.” She tells him pointedly after a beat of silence between them.

He chuckles lowly, shifting his position. Once again, Alina finds herself trying not to notice him - the piercing gray eyes adorned with dark crescents, the broadness of his shoulders, and those _lips_.

“Would you reconsider dinner with me?” He cocks a brow, and the smug look on his face is enough for Alina to think about how exactly would be the best way to induce a life-threatening injury with a key.

“No.”

“Why not.”

“Because you seem conceited, and not to mention you park _here_ ”- she gestures to his car - “when there are like seven actual parking spots across the street that _won’t_ impede people's abilities to leave their apartment when they need to. And I bet you would be rude to retail workers, too if presented the opportunity.”

He looks like he might laugh, but his features shift again until they’re neutral. “I didn’t know my parking habits were such an issue.”

Alina rolls her eyes, propping a hand on her hip. “Oh, _please_. You watched me crawl across the hood of your car yesterday. And not to mention, I asked you to move it two days ago!”

“Go out with me, and I’ll move my car,” he replies smoothly.

“I am not - this - are you seriously trying to negotiate with me?” Alina demands, cheeks heating.

“Trying? I am.”

“Know what?” Alina hops onto the hood of his car and pushes herself across it again. “Go fuck yourself.”

* * *

“Who peed in your cheerios?” Harshaw asks when she storms through the front door, a scowl etched deep into her features.

“Aleksander Morozova,” she says, gritting her teeth.

“Who?” Harshaw asks, sounding a little lost.

Alina doesn’t deign to answer for a moment, instead busying herself with wiping down the glass countertop. She takes a deep breath, then sighs as if that might expel her feelings. “It’s...this guy who keeps parking in front of my apartment building, and yesterday he asked Genya for my number, and a few minutes ago” - Alina grits her teeth slightly - “he told me he’d only move his car if I went on a date with him.”

Harshaw’s brows lift. “Huh.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well I mean, you want him to move his car, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Alina eyes him suspiciously. She feels like she already knows where this is going.

“So just go out with him.” At Alina’s slightly betrayed expression, he adds, “Really, it’s just one date, and you get what you want.”

She goes back to wiping down the countertops, turning over the idea in her head. Harshaw isn’t wrong, she concedes to herself, and maybe Mal might leave her alone if he saw her going out with someone like Aleksander.

It seems like it would be worth a shot, but she isn’t sure how to back track from this morning. And for all Alina knows, he might not move his car at all - he might’ve been joking, asking her out for his own amusement. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has done it to her.

It’s around ten-thirty when an idea hits Alina, and it’s seems so obvious she wonders how she didn’t think of it sooner: he had wanted her phone number just yesterday, so perhaps instead of agreeing to a date (which will feel just a little _too_ much like swallowing her pride for her tastes), she can offer to give him her number in exchange for him moving his car. A negotiation, as he had so kindly put it.

Alina grins to herself.

* * *

Alina is just clicking send on a Snapchat of her with a filter of a beard to Nikolai when the line moves up in front of her, and the bell above the door chimes simultaneously.

Within seconds, Nikolai has replied with a picture of him with dog ears and a long pink tongue; she laughs, screenshotting it. They go back and forth as Alina moves slowly up the line, until it’s just incredibly zoomed in pictures of their faces.

Standing by the counter, waiting for her drink and bagel, she startles when she glances over, eyes widening as tension coils in her body. Her phone buzzes in her hand - another Snapchat from Nikolai, no doubt - but she ignores it, staring at the dark hair, the eyelashes that might be fake, they’re so long, feeling helpless. She hadn’t expected another encounter until she was ready - until she was _prepared_.

Had he been standing in line behind her _all that time_?

Her cheeks burst into colour at the thought, because that meant he had surely witnessed the embarrassing pictures she’d sent to Nikolai, assuming that only the two of them would ever see them. _Oh God_.

Alina forces her eyes away, trying her best to seem like she still hasn’t noticed him - even if her flaming cheeks likely give her away - jerkily unlocking her phone to open the picture. Nikolai’s mouth is huge, his teeth even bigger, taking up a majority of his face in the picture and she can’t help but smile.

When she glances up again, the sight of Aleksander standing beside her, waiting for his coffee startles her almost just as much as the sight of him ordering coffee.

“Christ,” she says under her breath, one hand pressed to her chest, just above her pounding heart. She eyes him, debating whether she should say anything. All she can think before she opens her mouth is that everyone in that goddamn building better be weeping at her feet, blessing her name when they wake up tomorrow morning and there’s no car blocking them from getting out. “You still feel like negotiating?” She asks.

His head snaps toward her, eyes wide before his expression shifts to boredom. “Am I that irresistible?”

Alina rolls her eyes. “What else,” She deadpans.

His mouth quirks up on one side. “I am a lawyer for a reason.”

“Is that what you do with your time when you’re not trying to negotiate dates with girls?” She cocks a brow, her lips twisted up in a slight grin.

“That’s _not_ what you do in your spare time?”

Alina laughs. She hadn’t expected jokes or banter - and she certainly had expected to enjoy any time spent talking to Aleksander Morozova.

* * *

He offers to walk her back to the gallery.

“How do you know where I work?” Alina questions warily, ready to run if even one word out of his mouth creeps her out.

He gives her a look like he’s holding back a laugh. “The law firm I work for is across the street. I see you coming and going, sometimes. Why do you think I park where I park?”

“To be an asshole?” Alina suggests.

He does laugh at that. It’s a deep, rough sound and it makes her think it doesn’t happen very often.

“Well, that too.” He nods.

They walk in silence for a moment until her phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her blazer pocket, swiping to open the Snap from Nikolai. It’s a picture of him and his roommate, posing in front of a wall with a bright, swirling mural with dog filters.

Alina goes to the app’s camera, choosing the same filter. “Hey do me a favour,” she says as she sticks out her phone sideways in front of the two of them, the camera recognizing Aleksander’s face.

He blinks. “What?” Alina snaps the picture. She pulls the phone back to look at the picture.

“You look so confused,” she laughs.

“I was,” he frowns but it fades quick enough into a smile and then into a chuckle. “And hey,” Aleksander continues, “look at the face _you’re_ making.”

“Ew, you’re right,” she makes a face, saving the picture anyways before she sends it to Nikolai.

Alina glances up at him, watching his mouth open once and then close as his eyebrows furrow and his face shifts into a thoughtful expression. “Is that you’re boyfriend?”

“Who?”

Aleksander nods toward the phone still in her hand.

“Oh Nikolai?” The corners of her mouth tip down. “No, but he’s probably my best friend.” Alina arches her brow at him. “You think if I had a boyfriend I would have asked you if you still felt like negotiating?”

“I thought it was a conversation starter.”

She snorts, tipping her head back.

Then he asks, his head snapping towards her suddenly, “What did you want to negotiate.”

Alina fights back a blush at the look in his eyes. She’s never seen eyes that colour. “I was wondering…if you might consider moving your car in exchange for my number, instead.”

“Yes.” He says immediately, the word coming out like a breath. Like hearing her ask that was a weight off his shoulders.

Alina laughs quietly, noticing that they’re standing in front of the gallery, and just how much taller Aleksander is than her as she tilts her head back to look at him.

“Alright,” she smiles, “walk me home after work, and I’ll give it to you.” At the look on his face, she adds: “Think of it as an incentive.”

“Ah,” he says, his lips quirking, a calculating look in those gray eyes, like she is an equation that doesn’t quite tally. “Until then,” he says finally and strides off, across the street to the Nazyalensky building. His hand wraps around the door handle, about to pull it open, when he must still feel Alina’s eyes on him - because he turns around and smirks at her.

She feels the sudden urge to slap him. Instead she settles for flipping him off and hurrying into the gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you all think of Alek?? (Hope you liked him, 'cause there's gonna be so much more of him.)
> 
> Also, prepare yourselves for some Alarkling ~*texting*~


	6. Without Fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The << is Darkles, and the >> is Alina. :))

<< Dinner.

>> What?? Who the fuck is this??

<< Aleksander Morozova.

>> Ah. And nah

<< Am I that horrible.

>> Man, you really don’t know how to take rejection, do you??

<< I can take plenty rejection, I just don’t take no for an answer.

>> Well you’re gonna have to. 

<< Why.

>> Because I fucking said so. 

He doesn’t respond, and Alina wonders if he’s already deleted her number - and some part of her hopes he has - until -

<< How about lunch then.

>> Are you always so persistent??

<< Without fail. 

<< I never got your name.

>>Perhaps, asswipe, because I never gave it to you??

<< What did you think I meant.

>> You’re annoying as fuck. 

<< You adore me.

>> Blocked.

<< So lunch then? I’ll pick you up at the gallery.

>> We’re going to Starbucks.  

<< I’ll wear my finest tux.

Alina snorts before replying. >> You better.

* * *

Genya is already awake when Alina walks into the living room the next morning. She glances up from her magazine, brows raised.

“What’s with the outfit? Got a hot date?”

“What’s with you being a morning person?” Alina retorts, brushing invisible dust off of her shirt. It’s new, never worn, and, if Alina has anything to say about it, gorgeous. It is gray, slightly see-through, with beaded designs everywhere but the arms. 

“I’m not, but I have a shift in half an hour.” Genya manages a beauty supply store that, it seems, can hardly function without her there. “But you never answered my question.”

Alina gives her a look. “No.”

“Liar.”

“It’s more of a...getting coffee together ‘cause we work across the street from each other.”

Genya raises her brows again, mouth turning up in an excited smile. “Work across the street from each other, huh? Is he hot?”

“Gen!”

“I bet he is.”

Alina bites at her lower lip, avoiding Genya’s eyes. The redhead has always been very intuitive when it comes to Alina’s (practically non-existent) love life. 

“Alina Starkov! You - he - you didn’t!” Genya is standing now, pointing an accusing finger at her friend though her face is smug. 

“I didn’t what?” Alina asks, semi exasperated, semi hoping Genya will figure it out.

“You’re going out with him!”

Alina feigns innocence. “Who?”

“ _ ‘Who _ ?’ The guy that asked me for your number, duh.”

“Oh, you mean him.”

“Alina, sweetheart,” Genya comes to clasp her hands on Alina’s shoulders, bending slightly to meet her friend’s eyes. “You make it so hard to not want to throttle you sometimes.”

* * *

Aleksander is waiting outside, leaning against the side of his pretty black car - which is, for once, parked across the street - when Alina and Genya emerge.

Genya gives Alina a pointed look as if to say,  _ And you tried to deny it _ . Alina narrows her eyes in return.

“Have fun,” Genya calls, waving and waggling her brows as she heads for her car in the parking lot. 

Alina flips her off over her shoulder, her stomach tangling into knots and then turning into butterflies as she looks back to Aleksander. She’d never really paid attention to what he wore before but - the way that the suit fits him is something else entirely. The crisp edges seem stark against his pale complexion, and fits perfectly to hint at the body beneath. 

Alina swallows. She feels ridiculous. 

“Did you want something?” She says, though when he only stares at her for a moment after, she wonders if she’s said it loud enough. But then -

“To walk you to work.” Straight to the point, then. Not even Nikolai or Genya, for all their brashness, had been quite so straightforward when she’d met them. 

Alina blinks. Organizes her thoughts. Tries not to stare too hard at his face. “Any day, then.”

In a few long strides, he’s at her side, a briefcase hanging by his side. He adjusts his tie, and Alina catches sight of the black ink smeared across the pads of his fingers. Its black. 

After several breaths in silence, he says, suddenly, “You never gave me your name.”

“Alina,” she sucks on her lower lip. 

“Alina,” he nods, the word rolling from his tongue like he’s testing it’s flavour. 

“Can I call you Alek?” She asks. At his slightly startled expression, she adds, “Just because Aleksander is kind of a mouthful.” She hopes that doesn’t sound like some sort of innuendo.

“Yes,” he says, his tone slightly stiff. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seem really uncomfortable.”

“No it’s just - no one has called me that in a while.”

“Your friends just call you Aleksander all the time?” Alina arches a brow.

His expression is faintly amused. “I don’t bother with people much, Alina.”

“ _ You’re a lawyer _ .” 

“Outside of work, I mean.”

“Am I supposed to feel special or something?” Alina gives him a look, but she does feel special. Just a little. Then she wonders if he says that to every girl to make her feel special.

He only gives her a ghost of a smile.

* * *

Alek swings by the gallery to ask her to lunch again. Nadia raises her brows at Alina. Surprised. She, in response, rolls her eyes.

Alina smiles at him, a sudden shyness creeping up in her. Maybe it’s the sight of him standing there, in front of the tall windows, the noon sunlight casting him a long and imposing shadow, his features chiseled further by the play of shadows and light over his features. It reminds her of sitting with Harshaw and watching the sun sink.

“Where were you thinking?” Alina asks after walking in silence for what feels longer than it probably was. 

“Coffee?” He arches a brow. She thinks he might be being condescending, but then wonders if it’s his way to punctuate a question or something like that.

She doesn’t say much after that. 

* * *

They’ve both ordered coffees (and a cake pop, in Alina’s case), and are standing side by side waiting in silence. Her phone buzzes. Alina pulls it out, eager for any distraction from the stiff, rigid silence, praying it isn’t only an e-mail notification.

It’s a Snapchat from Nikolai. A sudden burst of laughter erupts from her at the video - most likely recorded by his roommate Tolya - of Nikolai falling down into a fountain. 

Alek’s head snaps over to glance down at her. “What.”

She shows him the phone, the video still playing on a loop. 

He doesn’t laugh. 

“Oh-kay, then,” Alina pushes the phone back into her pocket after typing out a quick reply of:  _ Text me that video, or I swear to god Nicholas _ .

When they’re sitting across from each other at a round table that is so small their knees touch, even in spite of all their efforts not to, Alek finally speaks. “I’m...sorry. About the way I have been acting.”

She raises her brows with a noncommittal shrug. 

“Work has just been,” he thinks for a moment, chewing at his chapped lower lip. “...working me.”

“Was that a joke?”

“A pun.” There’s amusement in those gray eyes.

“Aleksander! I didn’t know you were capable of such things.”

“I’m very capable, Alina.” And if she’s not mistaken, his eyes flit down to her mouth as she laughs. But she isn’t sure. The look is quick and sharp and - and she is staring.

“I don’t doubt it,” comes out of her mouth before she has much - or any - time to think about it, and suddenly she isn’t so sure they’re talking about jokes with the way his eyes seem to darken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The texting thing with the >> and the << was something I saw in A Shot in the Dark by Smiling_Penelope. I thought it was a cool/good/easy way to show them texting. 
> 
> ANYHOW, THE REAL FUN IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. ARE U READY FOR IT. ITS GONNA GET WILD. 
> 
> maybe. I'm a little dramatic sometimes, guys.
> 
> Oh oh I almost forgot: here is the reference for Alina's outfit (it's the third one from the left): https://i.ytimg.com/vi/P9KOtYGSxYo/maxresdefault.jpg


	7. Fine. Okay. Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder >> is Alina, and << is Darkles!!

After work, Genya is waiting outside of the gallery for Alina - and she is looking very much like she has something to say. 

“Uh, hey,” Alina waves awkwardly with one hand, trying to juggle the keys in one hand and the coffee cup in the other. It is her turn to lock up today, and she is sure that even if it wasn’t, Nadia would have left before closing just to avoid doing it. “Thought you were working late tonight?”

“Who told you that?” 

“The calendar?”

Genya doesn’t respond, only shifts her weight to the other foot. 

“Is there something you wanted, or…?”

The redhead almost smiles. “I wanted to hit that chinese place again. Work was a total bitch today,” Genya runs a hand through her curls. “Well, I should say the  _ boss  _ was a total bitch. She thinks she’s the Queen or something.”

“Queen of a beauty supply store,” Alina arches her brow.

“True,” Genya does smile this time. “Now let’s go get fat.”

* * *

Around six-thirty, Nikolai calls her on Skype. Genya is standing with one foot on one of the small tables in Alina’s room, a bottle of nail polish and a brush in either hand. She waves enthusiastically at Nikolai when Alina answers.

“Ladies!” Nikolai’s eyes, which Alina thinks should be adorned with dark circles, are bright and crinkling at the corners with his smile. “You’re both looking ravishing this fine evening.”

“Isn’t it like three in the morning there?” Genya asks, resuming her task.

“Two a.m., actually,” Nikolai corrects. 

Alina pulls her knees up to her chest. “Do you have something against sleep?”

“Just that it keeps me from adventuring. Also,” he pauses for a second, momentarily thoughtful, “I can’t believe Tolya sent you that video.”

“I have to admit that seeing you fall into a fountain may have been the highlight of my day.”

“What about walking to work with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome?” Genya looks faintly offended, and Alina can’t fathom why.

Nikolai’s face seems to falter. It makes her think of the so-fast-it-might-have-been-imagined look that Alek gave her at lunch. Something in her stomach twists in excitement, anticipation - though of what, she doesn’t want to think. 

“Is someone attempting to woo you, Alina, dear? Why was I not informed?” 

“Because she’s pretending that’s not what’s happening,” Genya practically shouts. 

“Details,” Nikolai demands, leaning forward so that is face is incredibly close to the camera. 

“We are not having this discussion,” Alina says, directing a pointed look over her shoulder at Genya. 

“Of course we are,” Genya responds, Nikolai nodding his agreement as the picture freezes. 

“The both of you are insufferable, you know that?”

* * *

Alina rolls over to her left side. She glances to the window that overlooks the tops and walls of a few other buildings along with the parking lot, though all she can see is the faintly blue blackness of night. She wonders if there are stars out tonight. She wonders if Genya is feeling so restless as her, but doubts it - no one she has met has ever had so much trouble sleeping as she. It’s not the darkness that plagues her or what may lurk in it - no that has never frightened her - but her own inability to simply quiet her thoughts. It is the reason for the ever-present ghastly colour to her under-eyes. Genya once commented - not unkindly - that it looked like she’d gotten beat up.

She brushes a strand of hair back, thinking maybe she should just give up and do something productive instead of this when - her phone chimes on her nightstand.

She twists eagerly onto her right side, snatching up her phone. 

<< We haven’t gone on a proper date.

>> Why are you texting me at one in the morning??

<< Every time I bring up going on a date, you avoid the subject.

>> I think I asked a pretty valid question.

>> Also, what do you mean?? We just had lunch today??

<< We got coffee. 

>> Answer the question Morozova

<< I was working.

>> Dude. Tf. 

<< You’ll find, Alina, lawyers always work late into the night.

>> You still never actually answered my question. 

<< You will also find, I enjoy your company.

Alina pauses for a second, her fingers hovering over the keyboard to respond, having flashes of what he might look like right now. Maybe he’s wearing that suit still, disheveled and weary. Or maybe he has just finally fallen into bed after so many hours, and isn’t wearing that suit. She flushes, dropping her phone onto the blankets beside her - as if he can see her embarrassment clear as day through the device. 

>> At one in the morning?? Is this a booty call, Alek??

<< Of course not. 

>> Are you always so formal?? Like is this your casual?

<< I hardly think it matters.

>> Fair enough.

<< I want to go out with you.

>> Of course you do. I’m a hot commodity. 

<< Alina.

>> Aleks. 

<< Go out with me.

>> You didn’t lie when you said you were persistent.

<< Are you always such a pain in the ass.

>> Do you want me to be honest

<< So, yes then. 

>> Rude

>> But you’re a pain in the ass too so

<< How am I a pain in the ass.

>> Are you really gonna make me rehash this??

* * *

The next few days pass in nearly the same fashion: Alek is waiting outside for her in the mornings, and they walk together, their hands nearly brushing - so close it is painful - he usually walks over to the gallery to meet her for lunch. If nothing else, if he is too swamped with work to leave for long, they get coffee. He texts her late into the night, and she hopes he doesn’t think she stays up just for him.

Four days later, the sun is high in the sky and Alina is nearly on her lunch break. Nadia is looking at her, as if trying to tell her without really saying so, that she is particularly restless today and the pacing is getting on her nerves.

Alina stands still, folding her hands and then fixing her blouse and then glancing over her shoulder at the door - double checking, she tells herself. Just making sure Aleks hasn’t come in already. 

He hasn’t.

“Why don’t you just  _ go over there _ , Alina?” 

Alina snaps her head back to Nadia, a look strangely similar to worry creasing her face. “You think?” 

“Yes!” She says, exasperated but with a small smile. “Go. He’s probably just running late.”

“Are you sure? - I mean, do you think you’ll be all right on your own?”

“Alina, I’m not five. I will be fine, I assure you.”

Alina bites at her lip, looking between the desk Nadia is leaning over and the front windows, where the door to Nazyalensky’s hasn’t moved in the past twenty minutes. Would it be weird, to just go over there without an invitation?

No, she tells herself. Aleks never waits around for an invitation - why should she?

Steeling herself, she pushes her shoulders back, lifts her head up fractionally and heads for the doors. Then Nazyalensky’s. She hopes her strides look as purposeful and important as she feels like they are. 

Halfway to pushing the door to Nazyalensky’s open, she realizes she’s never been inside. What if Alek isn’t even  _ here _ ? He wasn’t waiting for her this morning to walk together, but his car had been parked across the street. 

Shaking her head, she pushes forward anyways. So what if he isn’t here? Will it really matter so much? She’s only known him for just over a week. At this point in her friendship with Genya Alina had been hesitant to text her back - and her she is marching into the place where Aleksander works to ask him to go to lunch with her.

A girl with glossy, big black curls and feline eyes sits behind the front desk. The glossy pink on her lips shines under the overhead lights, and Alina feels suddenly intimidated. Is it because of the way the girl’s eyes flick up to meet hers (bored and faintly interested at the same time)? Or is it the way she twists her lips into an insincere smile? 

“Can I help you?” The words are drawled and snapped, and Alina wonders how the brunette managed such a combination. 

Alina takes a step closer to the desk. “I’m looking for Aleksander.”

“Aleksander who?” The girl asks with a little mocking smile on her lips. 

Suddenly, Alina feels the backbone she spent so many years avoiding - and recently building - snap back into place. “Morozova. How many Aleksander’s do you know? Last I checked it’s a pretty uncommon name, but if you know something I don’t.” She smiles, but hopes it comes out a little mean. 

“Morozova.” The other girl returns the smile, but it’s that same insincere one. “He’s in his office.”

“And which one is that.”

“You can’t go in,” she says with a tilt of her head, her blue eyes narrowing slightly and the tone of her voice making it clear just how intelligent she thinks Alina to be. 

Alina crosses her arms, sighing. Maybe if she had just stabbed Aleks with her key in the first place she wouldn’t be in this situation - but then, he might have just asked her to dinner anyway. “Why not?” And before the girl can get a word out, Alina ads: “Because you said so?”

“Actually,” the girl puts her hands flat against the polished wood of the desk. “Aleksander is with a client” - a saccharine smile that  _ absolutely does not make Alina want to be violent. At all _ \- “but I can take a message, if you’d like.”

“Just tell him Alina stopped by, if  _ Your Highness _ so pleases.” 

* * *

The bell above the door chimes lightly. She feels his eyes on her - practically feels his smirk.

“Something I can help you with?” Alina reaches up on her toes to dust the edge of a gold frame hanging on the wall. 

He doesn’t say anything, and walks silently to her side. She scowls up at the side of his face when he plucks the dust rag from her hand and easily wipes the frame. “No.”

“Then why’re you here?” She goes to the glass desk, holding her hand out for the dust rag - because she knows, without having to even glance up or listen, that Alek has followed. Something about that sparks immense satisfaction in her. 

“I missed lunch.”

“Your point?” 

“You’re upset.”

Alina looks up at him then, snorting. “Yes, Aleks. I simply cannot function without my daily dose of you.”

He drops the rag into her still waiting hand, never moving his eyes from hers. She watches them darken and swallows, unsure why she hasn’t looked away yet. Then the look in his eyes shifts a little more - and he is looking at her like he so often does; as though she is an equation that doesn’t quite make sense. 

Seemingly against her own volition, her eyes drop to the pale column of his neck. She wants to reach across the desk very badly then and kiss him. 

She bites her lip instead, and sets to work on wiping down the counter.

* * *

Walking side by side with Aleks, Alina says, “So I have a question.”

His eyes search her face as if he might simply deduce her words from her facial expression. 

“There’s this thing - well, a party, kind of - at the gallery and I was wondering if you’d like to come?” She tries not to wring her hands.

“Are you asking me out, Alina?”

She purses her lips. “Genya’s going to be there.”

Aleks stops walking. She realizes they’re in front of her building. 

“That’s not an answer Alina.”

“Maybe I don’t want to answer.” She raises her brows. 

He heaves a tired sigh. “If you really don’t want to go out with me, tell me, Alina. I’m too tired to play games.”

She fights back a blush, not entirely sure why she was going to blush in the first place. Because he thought she was playing games? Or because her immediate response had been to tell him that,  _ No, no, I want to date you. In fact I wanted to kiss you ten minutes ago _ ? “Know what. Fine. Okay, I’ll go out with you.”

“Yes?” Alina can’t fight the smile blooming across her features with the way his eyes light up for a second.

“Yes,” she sighs - but the smile is still stuck there.

He grins - seemingly an answer to her own - and they must look ridiculous standing there, grinning to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think?? I thoroughly enjoyed the texting and that little part - like a sentence - where Alina wanted to makeout with The Dork of Darkness™.


	8. Date Night

Aleks picks her up at seven-thirty the next evening. She slides easily into the passenger seat of his car, and stops, mid-way through pulling on her seatbelt. 

“Aleksander.” Alina blinks at the white t-shirt, the dark jeans.  

He’s staring straight forward, hands resting on the wheel. “Yes.” 

“Are you wearing actual regular clothing?”

His lips twitch towards a smile. “What were you expecting? A suit for the movies, as well?”

Without hesitation she responds with a blunt “yes”, and Alek looks torn between a chuckle and a frown.

* * *

“Oh come on,” she puts another piece of popcorn into her mouth, “it’s only a horror movie. Don’t tell me you’re scared of CGI and special effects makeup.”

He grits his teeth. “Horror does not bother me. There is little that does... _ clowns _ , however…” He nearly winces.

Alina can’t help the startled laugh that pulls itself from her mouth. “Clowns? Really?”

“What.” Aleks is avoiding her eyes, staring up at the still-black screen, but she can tell he is restraining himself from how stiff he’s gone and his monotone voice.

“Nothing,” she says, pursing her lips. 

Aleks doesn’t seem impressed. In the slightest. “We’re all afraid of something, Alina.” He turns away, to stare at the blank screen and doesn’t say another word.

* * *

“Never again,” Alek says, shaking his head but his lips are twitching like he wants to smile as they leave the theater.

Alina rolls her eyes, sighs. “All this grief about wanting to go on a date, and then ‘Never again, Alina’.” She imitates in a low voice, crossing her arms and furrowing her brows to mimic him.

He laughs, and a thought pops into her head that Alek laughing is the best sound of the world, and she never wants to stop hearing it. She smiles, watching him out of the corner of her eye - paying special attention to the way his eyes crinkle and how his lashes seem to brush his perfect goddamn cheekbones and how his lips pulled back as his laughter dies down and he grins at her like she is the most pleasantly surprising thing he’s ever come across.

* * *

The drive back to Alina’s apartment is roughly fifteen minutes and she spends every second of those fifteen minutes stealing glances at Alek - at his hands, one on the wheel, the other loosely settled on the gear shift, at his hair, still neatly styled the way he always seemed to wear it, at his profile - and stuck somewhere between wishing and hoping that he will stop the car and grab his face in his long-fingered hands and  _ kiss her _ .

When Alek finally pulls up in front of her building, the air itself seems to shift as he turns to look at her. There’s something in his eyes, and Alina can’t help herself; her own traitorous eyes flit down to his lips (not noticing that his do the same).

“I should go,” Alina tells him, but stays exactly where she is.

His voice is low, “I can walk you inside, if you would like.”

Alina swallows, meets his eyes - nearly engulfed by the pupils. “I would like that very much.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very short, but I wanted to update, and...yeah.


	9. Unprofessional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a whole mess.
> 
> sorry in advance.

In the morning, Alina wonders how it was even possible they didn’t kiss last night. Wonders why she didn’t just push him against a wall, why she didn’t just climb into his lap in the car - especially when she walks outside to be greeted by the sight of him leaning against the side of his car and staring at her raptly, like he is thinking the same thing she is.

They walk side by side to work, making small talk; Alina tells him the dress code for the party at the gallery, and he tells her about a particularly messy case he’s been working at for weeks now. She gets the sense that he is very good at what he does, and wonders how, with his occasionally overwhelming arrogance, he has not said as much to her. And he the way he speaks - speaks like his life is his work, like he loves it that way.

He inadvertently paints a picture in Alina’s mind: a man with hair the kind of black that swallows up all the light in the room, bent over a desk painfully neat, reading until his eyes burn, until he knows he has come across the winning solution.   

“Meet me at the gallery at six,” she says as they come to a gradual stop before the grand windows of the gallery, the panes seeming to reach for the sky. She smiles up at him softly from underneath her lashes, and hears Genya’s advice whispering through her mind: _Do that thing where you smile up from under your eyelashes. Makes them positively_ swoon.

Well, Aleksander doesn’t seem exactly the swooning type, but what she wouldn’t give to see him blush. Maybe even hear his breath catch.

However, the only reaction he gives her is a slight widening of his eyes, a hurried goodbye with a promise for lunch and the view of his back and long, long legs as he crosses the street.

With a huff of frustration and a faint laugh despite herself, she turns and reaches for the door handle behind herself.

* * *

Harshaw is whistling.

“Are you coming to the party?” Alina trails her finger mindlessly over the rim of her paper cup, the coffee within long gone cold.

He tilts his head at her. “Oncat and I have plans.”

She raises her brows at him, tempted to ask, but remembers last time and his explanation about sacrifice and American Idol, and replies with, “okay, then.”

The gallery stays rather empty for the majority of the morning, but is highlighted by her selling of one of the uglier pieces on the second floor to an old woman who told Alina it reminded her of her deceased husband. The woman hadn’t elaborated, and Alina certainly had not asked, but she laughs now as she recounts it to Aleks as they stroll, hand in hand, down the street.

He lets out a bark of laughter, and Alina’s grin widens. After a moment, he asks, “so what are you wearing tonight? Should we colour-coordinate?”

She lightly smacks his shoulder as he holds the door to the coffee shop open for her. “You’ll have to wait and see. As for colour-coordinating,” Alina pauses to appraise him up and down, grinning again, “I’d love to see what you come up with.”

* * *

After her shift ends at two-thirty, Alina heads home, humming along to a song stuck in her head. In her apartment, she connects her phone to the stereo system she and Genya had saved up for nearly a year to buy, and strips down before stepping into the shower.

She plucks and primes and preens, taking pains to choose the right shoes for the dress she has picked out. Normally, she wouldn’t bother with so much effort for such an event, but she wants to impress Aleksander beyond words, see his ever-perfect composure stumble, watch him turn red and have his breath catch at the sight of her.

Alina does her makeup, simple with a nude lip and a smoky silver-black-pink eye look, debating opening a pack of Genya’s false lashes as she shimmies into her dress when a knock on the door echoes through the apartment, heard even over her music. She pauses it before heading for the door.

Alina stares, surprised, up at one Aleksander Morozova.

“You look beautiful,” his voice is stiff and his head is held high. How can he say such a thing without even looking at her?

Still, Alina smiles at the ground to hide her pink cheeks. “Thanks. I feel like a disco ball.” She gives a demonstrative little twirl before leading him further into the apartment.

Alina motions vaguely for him to sit, either in the chair or on the couch beside her, but he shakes his head and begins a steady rhythm of pacing the short length of her living room.

“Aleks, are you okay?” She asks after a minute of silence, fingers digging into the couch cushions she's gripping.

His head shoots up, like he has forgotten where, precisely, he is and that he is not entirely alone. “I got fired today.”

She gapes at him. “I’m - oh my god I’m so sor -”

He looks agitated as he comes to a stop nearly directly in front of her, the coffee table between them. “I was accused of unprofessional conduct.”

“Accused?”

He gives her a sort of disgusted look, and spits, with almost just as much disgust in his words, “I didn’t do it, of course.”

“Care to explain?” Alina rocks back in her seat, feeling awkward and out of place. What is she supposed to say? He clearly is not in the market for her pity and condolences.

“Zoya told her father that I made some unwanted advances, and he fired me,” Aleksander says flatly. But his eyes sear with heat, despite their cold, indifferent gray colour.

“Her father?” She sits stark upright. “What do you - her father is your _boss_?”

“Yes.” He says curtly. “I expect it’s because I’ve rejected her twice now, and not to mention your little showdown with her last week.”

“He can’t do that!” Alina wants to shout the words, wants to hit something though she knows it won’t fix anything. “You’re their best defense lawyer, and they know it! What will they do now? Drop your clients?” Red lights her cheeks, determination in the set of her jaw, in her eyes. Aleksander stares back at her blankly, a hand propped under his chin. “I’ll - I’m going to say something.” She moves as if to grab her coat, as if to march from this end of town to the other and in a brilliantly sparkling dress, no less.  

Aleksander’s voice is sharp and sudden, stopping her in her tracks. “Don’t, Alina.”  

“This isn’t fair!” She stops herself from shouting the words, but only just. She gestures to herself, “this is because of me, Aleks. It isn’t fair, and he can’t do this. Let me fix it.”

He fixes her with a stare as sharp as his previous words, his face turning expressionless suddenly. She can’t read a thing from him, and wonders for a quick, fleeting moment, if he enjoys doing this. To her, to everyone else. Watching them squirm with the realization he has the knowledge they want and they can’t glean it unless he gives it to them. Unless he’s feeling generous.

“He can and he did, Alina. Sit down.”

Suddenly Alina feels she is seeing a whole new side to Aleksander, a side wholly different from the self-assured, if not arrogant, bold and relatively sweet man she’d met weeks ago. She takes an unsure step back, feeling the new space between them like miles and being glad for it. Had it been only this morning she’d regretted not taking him to bed with her the night before?

Then, like flipping a switch, Aleks’ expression shutters once more, and he looks more like the man she walks to work with, that she eats lunch and laughs with. How could she have thought she knows him so completely? Alina feels instantly stupid.

“You - I’m sorry, Alina, I just realized I have no idea why I came,” he stares down at her, a challenge in his face: the narrow of his steely eyes, the seemingly downturn to his brows.

Alina juts her chin up and out, no longer staring at the ground. No longer relinquishing space to him, in her own apartment no less. “Yes, I don’t know why you did, either.” But that’s a lie. It might be. She thinks she has a pretty good idea of why - he has no other friends, from what she knows, and perhaps he simply wanted to just _tell_ someone, perhaps he wanted to be angry. At her, at his loss. Whatever the reason, she thinks she understands, thinks -

Aleksander seems to see something in her face, or maybe just can’t stand to be here anymore, and turns on his heel and goes out the door.

Alina doesn’t move.

Alina doesn’t cry, but feels like maybe she wants to. She turns on her own heel and heads back for the bathroom, to curl her hair and finish getting ready.

* * *

To say Alina is surprised when Aleksander walks through the door of the gallery, crisp and all sharp edges in a black suit with his hair slicked back, at six o’clock exactly, would be - and absolutely is - an understatement. After their argument earlier, Alina had considered it a safe bet to say she was going to be date-less for the event, after all.

She thinks maybe all this work wasn’t for waste after all, but he still has that look on his face - angry, but with an attempt at concealment.

Albeit, a very poor attempt at concealment.

His strides are long and purposeful, bringing him to stand directly in front of her. “Hello.” He looks like he’s gritting his teeth and trying not to show it.

“You came,” Alina states.

He acknowledges her words with a stiff nod. “I said I would. I’m a man of my word, Alina.”   

“You know,” she tilts her head, “you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

“I want to be,” he snaps, moving to stand beside her so she can no longer look him in the eyes.

Alina’s brows inch upwards in surprise at his tone, like maybe he wants her to get cut on his words. “You sure about that Aleks?”

He doesn’t deign to respond, but she catches a muscle in his jaw feathering out of the corner of her eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this was choppy but I really wanted to update and there is about to be DRAMA. 
> 
> In the next chapter we'll see the return of a much-loved character and a still- angry and bitter and devastated Aleks, and perhaps some comic relief from our favourite best friend. ;))


	10. Nikolai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr! @sunsankta

When the night ends, all Alina wants to do is collapse into her bed, makeup and dress and heels and all, but instead falls onto the couch next to her best friend.

Genya grins, all teeth and with her hair pulled back in a poorly done braid with strands coming loose. For all that the redhead is capable of, as long as Alina has known her, the girl has never been able to do a regular braid on herself. “How was your _daaate_?”

Alina rubs at her eyes, knowing she’ll smudge and ruin the makeup there, but not caring enough anymore to stop herself. “Terrible.”

Genya’s brows go up, a look of intrigue crossing her face. “Do go on.”

So Alina tells her how Aleksander showed up at the apartment earlier, how he got fired, and how she’d expected that, after he’d all but stormed out, she would be going solo to the gallery’s showing tonight. But then, there he’d been, a snappy, rather rude prince charming. “Why did he even bother to show, let alone stay, when he was that miserable?” She grumbles, letting her head fall back on the cushions.  

“Well,” her friends begins, “he probably felt he owed it to you.”

Alina snorts. “He told me as much, Gen. Just not so kindly.” After a moment, she allows herself to loose a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Does this mean we’re not together anymore?” Then, at Genya’s ecstatic expression, she bolts up in alarm, waving her hands frantically. “No, no, NO NO, GEN - nope, not together. We’re dating. Not even. One date. _One date_ , Genya.”

Genya scowls at her, crossing her arms over her chest and flipping her braid dramatically over a shoulder. “Must your ruin my fun before it’s even begun?”

She pouts her lips mockingly at the other girl. “Yes. Now,” she gets to her feet, “I am going to bed.”

“Alina - wait, there’s something -” Genya calls down the hallway, but the words are cut off by the slamming of Alina’s bedroom door.

* * *

“Up and at it, Alina dear!” A distinctly male, distinctly enthusiastic voice shouts, and Alina sits bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, searching her room frantically.

Her eyes open wide and her mouth falls open at the sight of one Nikolai Lantsov, grinning ear-to-stupid-ear at her from the doorway. She throws the covers off so quick they fall to the floor and she’s squeezing the absolute life out of Nikolai - squeezing for all she’s worth, and he’s squeezing her right back.

Alina laughs, because Nikolai’s here, Nikolai’s hugging her, and her hair is in a mussed braid and she didn’t take her makeup off very well last night and she’s a mess of anger and sadness and pity and now - happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

Minutes pass before Alina feels even remotely ready to let him go. Nikolai has taken to rocking them back and forth, and while his feet stay firmly planted on the floor, Alina goes from foot to foot with his movements.

Alina pulls back from him, enough to be able to tilt her head back and look him in the eyes. “I can’t believe you’re back!” She beams, watching as Nikolai’s ever-present grin spreads even further.

“I am known to make grand, unannounced entrances to surprise beautiful best friends,” she has no idea how in the world it’s possible for someone’s eyes to sparkle, but his do.

Alina swats his arm playfully, laughing. “You have to take me with you next time.” Then, more serious, more sober, “I missed you.”

His grin has fallen away as well, and he looks down at her, searching her face, her eyes. “Name the place Alina, and I’ll book the flight.”

Alina turns her eyes away from his, searching the parking lot out her window for nothing in particular and for just a peek at a sleek black car and a tall, sleek man. Turning back to Nikolai, she lets out a small laugh. “You know I can’t, now come on, I’m starving.”

* * *

Nikolai makes her laugh with the most amazing, stupid and amazingly stupid stories about all the places he visited and the things he did. He tells her about cliff diving in Costa Rica, not jumping off in the right spot and worrying about half way down that he was going to go splat on some rocks as he pulls some waffles out of the toaster and Alina grabs the maple syrup and butter from the fridge.

“You’re an idiot,” she says matter-of-factly, pouring syrup over her waffle.

Nikolai grins roguishly at her. “You say that like you expected anything different, Alina.”

Alina sighs woefully, smiling. “Can’t blame me for hoping.”

“Don’t go saying things you don’t mean. I don’t think I could make you laugh half as much without doing stupid things so I could tell you about them.”

“Not -” Alina begins, stopping short at the sound of two crisp, quick knocks at the door.

Brows furrowed and wondering who could possibly be knocking at her door - because no one ever does - and hoping it isn't Mal, she goes to open it.

The door swings inward, and in steps Aleksander in all his suited glory. “Alina, I -” His eyes seem to catch and stick on Nikolai and - “Who are you?” Contempt and disgust drip obvious and sticky from his words, his arms crossing across his chest.

“Oh,” Alina smiles, glancing back to where Nikolai leans against the narrow island that separates the kitchen and living room. “Nikolai. I’ve told you about him before.”

Aleksander’s jaw works, a muscle feathering near on the right side, but his expression shifts to that impressively blank slate she'd had the pleasure of witnessing last night. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

Alina’s smile fades as she regards him. “Did you need something, Aleks?”

He opens his mouth to speak and to Alina, it looks like he is about to say one thing and then changes his mind between seconds. “You’re running late” - a sharp jerk of the chin towards the clock on her oven - “you usually meet me at this time.”

She peeks at the clock, too, confused. “But it’s only -”

It doesn’t matter that there is a good thirty minutes before the time when Alina usually meets Aleks before they walk to work together, because when she looks back at him, she sees only his back as he closes her door behind himself. It doesn’t matter that Aleksander knows she doesn’t work Saturdays, or that Aleksander no longer has a need to even meet her, seeing as he no longer has a job.

“Dashing fellow,” Nikolai grins. “Think he would give me his number?”

* * *

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she tells Nikolai, who kicks his feet up on her coffee table, looking obnoxious and good and obnoxiously good-looking. Alina shuts her door softly, leaning against it for a moment, contemplating, before she heads to her nightstand, snatching up her phone and tugging the charger out.

No texts, no missed calls.

Nothing.

But what was she expecting? If it had not been for Aleksander showing up unannounced, she wouldn’t have expected anything. He was mad at her, supposedly, maybe, and Alina has the distinct impression he would much rather choke on his own pride than concede that he had been mean, wrong to take out his frustrations and anger over being fired on her.

What he had done this morning, though - was that not conceding?

No, not really, because he’d barged in, acted disgusted and been rude, and barged back out.

Alina throws her phone onto her bed and got changed, shoving her arms through a halter top and shimmying into a pair of jean shorts.

She undoes her messy braid, finger-brushes her hair, twisting and moving pieces into what she hopes somewhat resembles a french braid before brushing her teeth and washing her face.

“All right,” Nikolai rubs his hands together with an impish look as she reenters the living room, “let’s do something illegal.”

* * *

“When did you turn into such a bore, Alina?” Nikolai teases, walking backwards down Main street.

She gives him a dry look. “You mean to tell me I’m only fun when I do street art with you in your precious little imagination?”

His face lights up and he points at her. “Exactly.”

They pass a bakery, only for Alina to drag them back, murmuring something about cupcakes and a sugar rush. She gives Nikolai a half-hearted glare when he pulls out his wallet immediately after ordering to pay because _I could have paid for that, Nicholas_.

“Shush,” Nikolai hands her the yellow-icened cupcake and grabs his own blueberry scone. “Heir to a billionaire’s immense fortune here, I have money to burn.”

She glares at him for that, which only makes him grin that shit-eating grin. After a minute, she smiles, too.

They spend the afternoon browsing Os Alta’s one and only antique shop, trying on old, musty-smelling hats, playing on the swings at an empty playground like children trying to see who can go the highest, and Nikolai trying to convince Alina that botox is better than liposuction.

“It’s almost five,” Alina says, tucking her phone back into her shorts pocket.

“You know what that means,” Nikolai sighs in a woe-me sort of way and Alina rolls her eyes.

She indulges him all the same. “What?”

“My hair needs more mousse.”

* * *

The door of the beauty supply store swings shut behind them, a bell chiming overhead. Both sounds are, however, drowned out completely by the sound of Genya’s wail of excitement as she rushes out from behind the counter.

She wraps her arms around Nikolai’s shoulders and beams, squeezing her eyes closed. “Finally! I thought you might get kidnapped by a foreign girl and never come home!”

Genya lets him go and Nikolai fixes some unseen imperfection in his perfectly preened blond hair. “Well, funny story, there was this one girl who could do this thing with her -”

“Okay!” Alina smiles largely and awkwardly, eyes wide in her face and eyebrows high on her forehead.

Genya snickers and wanders back around the counter. “I have five more minutes before I can clock out. Feel free to browse,” she gestures to the meticulously organized aisles.

And, because of course he does, Nikolai finds his way immediately to the hair dye. He stops, turning to face Alina and then appraises her up and down. He brings a finger to thoughtfully tap against his bottom lip before breaking out in a devilish grin. He grabs a box of platinum blonde dye and shakes it at Alina.

“Have I ever told you I think you’d look magnificently magical as a blonde?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

Alina scowls at him. “I’m not bleaching my hair.”

“Oh, please, please, Alina!” Genya is suddenly behind her, and Alina whirls around, startled.

Hand pressed against her chest, Alina stares up at her friend. “We’re not dyeing my hair!”

Genya begins to protest, “ _Alina_ -”

“ _My_ hair. Bleach your own.”

“Pretty please!”

“No.”

“Please don’t make me resort to blackmail, Alina.”

Alina’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t dare -”

“Oh I would so,” Genya leans forward slightly, snatching the box of dye from Nikolai, who looks all too amused for his own good.

“You said you deleted those -”

Genya’s tawny eyes light up. “I lied.”

“Fine!” Alina growls. “On the condition you delete those pictures and never bring them up again.”

Genya beams innocently. “Done and done! Hold this while I clock out.” She shoves the box of dye at Alina and skips over to the backroom.

Alina skims over the instructions on the back. “Are you sure you know how to do this?” She eyes Genya skeptically as she comes prancing back out.

The redhead waves her hand dismissively, the other perched on her hip. “Don’t be ridiculous Alina, of course I do. I’ve watched, like, three Youtube videos.”

“ _No_ \- no, no, no -”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love Nikolai Lantsov. 
> 
> What did you all think?? Any predictions for what's to come?


	11. Bad Day

“Alina,” Genya begins, voice high-pitched and tentative. “I may have possibly totally fucked up your hair.”

Nikolai’s hand is pressed against his chin in a fist and Alina watches his face turn from a grimace to a cringe until his expression settles somewhere in between the two. He nods. “...You could say that, yeah.”

“I hate you - I hate you, Genya Safin. I hope your children are _so_ ugly -” Alina drops her head into her hands, wet hair falling over her shoulders.

Genya mumbles something about how rude it is to curse someone’s future lineage in reply.

Alina glances over at it, the still-wet and limp strands and - “It’s _ORANGE_ Genya, ORANGE. I think that’s a perfectly reasonable reason to curse someone’s lineage!”

“We match…?” Genya offers with a helpless shrug and sympathetic grimace.

Alina points a finger at the redhead. “You’re paying for this.”

Genya’s hands shoot up in an “I’m innocent” gesture, and says, “Hey, hey, no need to go around plotting revenge schemes, Alina.”

Alina rolls her eyes and lets out an annoyed huff of air. “You’re taking me to get this done professionally, idiot. I’m not planning on taking you out of this world the same way you came in, even though I should be.”

“That is a threat, Alina Starkov; you’re lucky I love you.”

* * *

“Nikolai take a picture of me,” Alina hands him her phone, slightly unnerved by the movement and the way the dozens upon dozens of pieces of foil consequently move with her.

Her head feels like it weighs a ton, but Alina is only glad to not look like...well, a hot mess. Hopefully. Maybe blonde will suit her. The hairdresser had suggested going to a light blonde because she has a sort of olive complexion, and the lightness of the blonde will apparently offset her skin and her eyes.

Alina has never paid her reflection enough attention to notice such things.

Nikolai had agreed with the hairdresser wholeheartedly, beaming widely and effectively rendering the poor woman not only stumbling and a deep red colour, but pretty distracted. She’d very nearly painted Alina’s face with whatever mixture she had concocted in the little bowl.

Nikolai raises his brows at her. “You want Genya to have more blackmail material?”

Alina makes a face. “I’m not planning to share it with her, but thank you, Nikolai. Take the picture please.”

Nikolai mumbles something under his breath and steps back to get all her foil-wrapped hair in the frame. A moment later, he presses the phone back into her hand and plops down gracefully into a plastic chair across from her.

“Who’re you sending it to?”

Alina bites her lip to stop from smiling as she imagines Aleksander’s potential reactions to her new hair. She’s determined to help him get out of this funk and back on his feet and get a genuine reaction from him. A big reaction.

It’s like a fun little game she plays, having no idea if he knows she’s playing it.

<< So, um, this is happening.

She sends the text, locking her phone and dropping it in her lap, biting back a smile as Nikolai watches her curiously, a tilt to his head. Sun slants in through the front windows, defining his cheekbones and jawline, making his hazel eyes all but glow. In this moment, Alina is convinced that he can have children with the most unfortunate-looking person in the world, and the children will still be gorgeous.

“Stupid Lantsov genes,” she mutters, and hears Nikolai laugh but is distracted at the sudden ping from her phone.

>> What on Earth, Alina?

He responded!

<< I let Genya and Nikolai talk me into letting Genya bleach my hair. It did not end well, so I’m getting it re-done.

<< Professionally.

The reply is quick, and if she’s not mistaken, curt:

>> I’m preoccupied. We can talk later.

Alina’s face falls, and suddenly she doesn’t care so much about her hair, about possibly having given Genya more blackmail material if she ever sees the picture Nikolai just took of her. She wanted - wants - Aleksander to reply with something witty, for them to banter a little, or for him to just want to talk to her like he did before.

It feels as though something nearly irrevocable has occurred between them, and Alina can’t think of a single way to fix it.

* * *

The next week, Alina straightens her hair, now as white (or perhaps whiter) as paper. If she’s honest, she really likes it. She looks like someone different, someone completely and totally confident. But she’s still in there, too. Alina is there still, in the kind of thin eyebrows, the eyes like dark chocolate, and strong cupid’s bow.

She wiggles into a pair of dark blue dress pants, pairs it with heels and a light yellow thin-strapped top she tucks in. Genya sweeps in with a smile and makeup before heading to work, herself, and then Alina is out the door.

Out the door and staring longingly at the empty parking spot across the street where a sleek black Maserati should be parked.

She sighs, reaching into her purse for her phone.

No notifications.

A deeper, more dissatisfied sigh.

The walk to work is short and uneventful, her feet already hating her and she’s only been wearing the heels half an hour. It’s her and Nadia working today, and both are kept busy with customers throughout the day. When she has the chance, though, Alina is looking over her shoulder, out the window, at the Nazyalensky building across the street.

She expects Aleks to stride out any minute and meet her when she heads outside for her lunch break. She wants to sit across from him at a tiny Starbucks table, laughing over coffee and Aleks trying not to bump his long legs against hers under the table.

But it’s been a week, a little longer, even.

And he won’t even return her texts.

Alina pulls out her phone. Again, no missed calls, no waiting messages.  

This is bullshit. Complete bullshit. He is acting like a _child_.

She dials his number and presses the ringing phone to her ear.

He picks up, but doesn’t say a word. _That’s how it’s going to be?_ “Hello, Aleksander.”

“Alina,” he returns, tone clipped. “Can I help you with something?”

“Hmm, let me think about it for a sec,” Alina pretends to ponder. “You could stop being a dick.”

“I got fired, my sincerest apologies if I’m not in the best of moods,” he snaps, voice low.

Alina’s pace speeds up down the sidewalk. “I get that. I do, Aleks. You’re taking it out on me, though, and I didn’t do anything. You aren’t returning my texts.”

He bites out a sound of annoyance. “I am looking for another job, Alina. It’s a time-consuming task.” Aleksander speaks like he is explaining something that ought to be simple to an especially slow person.

“I’m not asking to be your top priority. We’ve been on one date - but I thought we were at least _friends_ \- I’m worried about you, heaven forbid.” Her voice grows louder, garnering stares from passerby. She’s never been this angry upon telling someone she cared for them and is worried for them - it’s plain ridiculous.

“Worry about yourself, Alina,” he retorts, sounding like he’s almost enjoying this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You work at an art gallery. You let your friends talk you into idiotic things - shall I go on?” He laughs, but it isn’t that sound Alina thought she loved better than any other. No, it’s mean and heartless, all jagged edges that cut. Cut just like Aleksander wants them to.

Alina laughs right back. “Go fuck yourself.”

* * *

“Alina, dearest -”

“Screw off,” Alina shoots back, before Nikolai has even finished his sentence. She’s laying sideways on her bed, makeup scrubbed off and hair tied back into a ponytail, frowning. Why is Aleksander such a dick? Why does he seem to _enjoy_ being a dick?

Is it her? Did she honestly do something?

Her door pops open, but Alina doesn’t turn to look at Nikolai. “Your cruel words pierce my fragile heart.”

She ignores him. He’s being sarcastic, Alina knows. Sometimes she thinks there’s nothing that can actually get through to Nikolai and break his sunny demeanour, actually hurt his feelings. In truth, she’s never seen it, but she knows it’s possible - has to be possible, because he’s only human.

Her bed dips under his weight as he sits down. He’s silent for long heartbeats.

“What are you doing?” Alina mumbles, still not looking at him.

“You don’t want to talk, that’s okay,” he leans back against the headboard, propping his arms behind his head, kicking up his feet. “I’ll just sit with you.”

Alina flops onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. “Why?”

“You're my friend, and you’re obviously going through something. That’s why.”

“Maybe I just had a bad day,” Alina quips back. “Ever think of that?”

He acknowledges this. “A possibility. But I get the feeling it has something to do with that guy - Aleks, was it?”

Alina makes an unintelligible noise, something like a groan and grunt. She reaches her hand out, to hang off her bed, playing in the streams of sunlight from the open window.

“Well,” Nikolai wiggles around, wedging himself further into the bed and seeming to get even more comfortable with his position. “You know that me and Genya are always eager listeners, when you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...not quite as long as I was hoping.
> 
> Anyways, though, be prepared for more Aleks/Alina and Nikolai/Alina confusion next chapter! (Because I love to play with feelings, apparently.)


End file.
